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The cloth was removed, and Wood, drawing the table as near the window as possible—for it was getting dusk —put on his spectacles, and opened that sacred volume from which the best consolation in affliction is derived, and left the lovers—for such they may now be fairly termed—to their own conversation. “Can we watch television?” She asked. "Come down stairs directly, and let your mother look at your wrist. ’ ‘Damnation!’ ‘What the devil ails you?’ demanded his friend, striding forward. 167 “True love is forever, isn’t it?” It was something a child would say, a phrase she had seen scratched on bathroom walls and maple trees, but it made her sad. I’ve got to have you, and by God I will.
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